(suspenseful music) CARETAKER: (muffled) Mr. Franklin?

(door knob rattles) Mr. Franklin?

(banging on door) (door smashes open) Hello?

Mr. Franklin?

Mr. Franklin.

Mr. Franklin.

(ominous music) (theme music) (office phone ringing) (background chatter) -Sorry, Sir, I was... -I can see.

This is the first Sunday I've had off in more than a month.

Yeah, well, I was on the third tee.

Oh, you were playing golf?

Does the name Harry Franklin mean anything to you?

-The crime writer?

-Yeah.

He was found dead in his flat.

Doors bolted from the inside.

Now, look, I want this tied up before it becomes, you know, a thing.

Police baffled by mystery death of best-selling crime writer.

Exactly.

Have you contacted Parsons?

Yeah, she's been there an hour.

(dramatic music) (sighs) Poof... Urgh.

Um, Harry Franklin's dead.

Yeah.

How do you know?

Uh, Mr. Gilmour, he...he told me.

Who the hell told him?

It sounds like a locked room mystery.

No mystery, he killed himself.

Right, but in his book, A Crooked Man, the famous writer appears to have killed himself, and then we find out... Do you want to see for yourself?

Uh...yes...yes.

(clears throat) I... (happy background chatter) (door opens) (police chattering) (camera clicking) -Sorry.

-Hmm?

Sorry.

OFFICER: Can you confirm of death?

You worked it out yet?

This might be more of a challenge.

(soft music) -BEA: Patience.

-Mm?

Pop these on.

Oh, thanks.

What are we dealing with?

Uh, well, preliminary indications suggest potassium cyanide as cause of death.

Or hydrogen cyanide.

Uh, potassium cyanide is more common.

Hmm, not in this case, it's not.

Well, the lab will confirm either way.

Just let her do her job.

People don't like to be contradicted in public.

JAKE: Boss?

-I'll just be a minute.

-Okay.

Mr. Franklin usually responds promptly to phone messages.

When he hadn't rung back in three days, I was concerned.

And you are?

Kelvin Fitzwalter, Pardona Publishing.

You publish Mr. Franklin's books?

No.

We were hoping to.

We contracted him to write a memoir.

So, when did you last see him?

Today's the first time I've ever set eyes on him.

He never came to your office?

Oh, Mr. Franklin never left the building.

He didn't own a computer or a mobile.

We only ever talked on his landline.

You gave him a contract based on a few chats on the phone?

-When someone like him offers you their memoirs, you don't say no.

So, what about you?

Well, I spoke to him maybe... three days ago.

He asked me to post a letter.

Did you happen to notice the address?

I respect the residents' privacy.

Has he had any visitors since?

None that I saw.

And, uh... my desk is right by the front door.

(camera clicking) MEDICAL EXAMINER: Right, are you sure?

Is it indeed, definitely?

Oh, right, okay.

Yeah.

Thanks for that.

Yeah, okay, bye, bye.

Uh, that was the lab.

Swabs from the glass show traces of HCN.

Hmm.

Hydrogen cyanide.

You were right.

Yes, I was.

(whispers) It smells of almonds and Harry's favorite liqueur, the killer must have known that.

Except we don't think he was killed.

And why are you whispering?

Well...DI Metcalf said that if I'm to contradict you, I shouldn't do it publicly.

So... were there traces of HCN in the amaretto bottle?

I've a lot to get on with.

(mysterious music) (typewriter clicks) Please don't touch anything.

(high tempo music) Patience?

What happened?

(somber music) (sniffing) Is something the matter?

Would it help to talk about it?

To make the correct patterns, the player must be able to see things from multiple perspectives.

Patience.

I got carried away at a crime scene and I touched something that I shouldn't have.

Oh, dear.

Now Detective Bea won't want me as her investigative assistant.

We all make mistakes.

(birds singing) (background chatter) (car doors close) I know, 19 minutes late.

I didn't think we'd be seeing you today.

Um, were there traces of HCN found in the amaretto bottle?

Or were there traces of HCN found in any receptacle in the flat?

Slow down.

Okay, were there traces of HCN found in a receptacle that could have been thrown out the window of his apartment?

I'll check with forensics, okay?

Okay.

Um...

I...I wanted to say sorry, as well.

This is everything that I could find on Harry Franklin.

I was up most of the night, I used red pen, 'cause it felt like the right color for those questions.

That's... that's very helpful.

Thank you.

(background chatter) Miss Evans.

(soft music) Oh, Mr. Scott.

Uh... (clears throat) Um...I...

I noticed that you have a button missing here, on that...that shirt that you wore the other day.

So, a...close match.

Ah.

Uh... that's very observant of you.

(laughs) And very thoughtful, thank you.

That's okay.

BEA: Patience.

I've got answers to your questions.

Plain or black ink, I'm afraid.

(office phone rings) (sighs) Can you believe it?

More than 90 comments.

Most of them think he was murdered.

He was.

Patience has questioned how the cyanide got into Harry Franklin's glass if he killed himself.

There's no traces of the poison in the amaretto bottle or in any receptacle found in his flat other than in his glass.

But he's a crime writer.

He...threw it out of the window to confuse us.

Uniform searched the vicinity.

Somebody put it in and left.

But the door was bolted from the inside.

Well, maybe he showed 'em out.

The poison's too fast-acting.

And, besides, the caretaker was adamant, no visitors.

So, he kept it in the glass until the right moment.

It would have evaporated.

Sounds like a locked room mystery.

(upbeat music) (sinister music) If we can't account for how Harry got the cyanide into his own drink, then... we have to assume some form of third-party involvement.

Let's pull in CCTV images from outside the flat.

Everybody's favorite job.

-I know.

-You're so good at it.

See who came and went.

When and why.

Did you follow up on the paperwork we found at Harry's flat?

Yeah, the bank's offshore and they won't play ball without a court order.

What a surprise.

Let's get one.

We did dig this out, though.

Two months ago, Harry opens his first domestic account in 20 years.

Completely different bank.

That six-figure deposit paid in by Pardona Publishing the very same day, for his memoirs presumably.

Except there was nothing resembling memoirs or notes for memoirs in the gubbins we found in his flat.

Maybe he just hadn't started.

Or maybe somebody cleared it all out.

We know some of his papers are missing.

Dear Lottie, thank you for your reply to my letter.

Where's the reply?

The SOCOs didn't find it.

So, who has interest in preventing the memoirs from being published?

What about his ex-publisher?

Uh... (papers rustling) Pippa Junor.

Halfpenny Publishing.

It's practically a one-woman operation.

Who's just watched her pot of gold walk out the door.

Hmm, we should call her in for a chat.

Harry's a creature of habit.

Same offshore bank account for 20 years.

I want to know, why change it now?

New customers get a cuddly toy?

(laughs) You paid a tidy sum for his memoirs.

That was just the advance.

Reckon they were gonna be worth it?

Look, his books have sold 18 million copies.

They bring thousands of people to York each year.

Haven't you heard of the Fortnum Mystery Weekends?

Hmm.

Can I see them?

These fabulous memoirs.

He hadn't delivered anything.

Oh.

Well, there's nothing in his flat.

Reckon he was playing you?

-No, absolutely not.

No immediate family, no real friends, barely leaves the house.

Doesn't sound like much of a life to write about.

There was going to be a section on the fire that almost killed him.

Plus, he promised a reveal that the public and the literary world would find absolutely explosive.

Yeah.

Writer's retreat, the fire that destroyed me, my life as a ghost, unmasked at last.

Yeah, he'd been researching for months, there must be evidence of that.

Barely a shred.

I'm trying to identify these people with Harry.

Well, I have no idea who the woman is, but, um... that is Edmund Lennox.

He's, uh, one of our star writers.

(suspenseful dreams) Well, he's, uh, gone a bit grayer since then.

Hm.

(church bell rings) (keys clink) Better day?

Uh, yeah.

Yeah.

You fancy some lemonade?

It's homemade.

Uh, okay.

-There you go.

-Thank you.

(suspenseful music) (background chatter) -Patience, we're just about... -There are seven types of locked room mystery, including the ice arrow in which the murder weapon disappears.

Are we on a Fortnum Mystery weekend?

We're just on our way to...

The killer mixed cyanide and water, and put it in the ice cube tray, and then Harry Franklin put the frozen cube into his drink.

That's brilliant.

Can you get on to Parsons?

Tell her to test the ice tray.

Yeah, what about an interview with Junor?

Patience can observe.

(footsteps receding) When did you last speak to him?

A month ago.

What'd you talk about?

A new contract.

BEA: Uh, Harry had killed off Fortnum.

I thought of a way to bring him back.

How did he react?

He was evasive.

Then I found out he'd signed a deal with Pardona.

And when did you last see him?

In person?

Maybe a year ago.

After he sent me the final Fortnum manuscript, I came to try and dissuade him.

CCTV has you visiting his flat last Saturday, after waiting for the caretaker to leave.

I knocked.

Got no reply.

You looked pretty angry.

Did I?

(tense music) Fortnum was your golden goose.

In my office, I have got the typescript of the first Fortnum novel.

Harry's first draft.

Overblown, pretentious, a mess.

Every other publisher had rejected it, but I saw a clever plot, cut it to the bone, sent it back to him, said I'd publish it, but only in this form.

He agreed.

Six months later, it's a bestseller.

I made him.

I put up with his refusal to promote his work, his typescripts, his rudeness, and then out of the blue, I'm history.

(ominous music) I'll tell you why I didn't want to be seen.

If Harry had opened that door and treated me in that bloody condescending, offhand way of his, I don't know what I would have done.

(mysterious music) Patience?

Uh, yes?

(soft music) Whe...where are you?

Uh, I'm... nobody actually comes in here.

Do you want to come out?

No, I don't.

Shall we shout through the crate, then?

(sighs) No.

(crate trundles) Do not touch anything, okay?

(mice squeaking) Why are you here?

You were right about the, um, ice cubes.

Hmm.

How would you feel about talking to Baxter, making your role with us official?

Um, I found them.

The people in the photograph.

The fire claimed the life of Lisa Newman, 23.

Harry Franklin, 24, was taken to hospital with second degree burns.

A second man, Edmund Lennox, 24, also attended but was later released.

Aldous Tate, who owns the cabin that was destroyed in the fire and runs the Sandend writers' retreat, said he was devastated by Miss Newman's death.

Yeah, so this is the incident report that Harry Franklin requested a copy of two weeks ago.

To help research his memoirs.

Yeah.

He also requested access to Lisa Newman's post-mortem.

I mean, the findings were inconclusive, but...

It could have been started deliberately.

Possibly.

Pardona could put us in touch with the other man in the photo, Edmund Lennox.

(car rumbling) (crow cawing) It must have been a shock, Mr. Lennox.

Hmm.

That's an understatement.

I've known Harry since we were 17.

You both have the same model.

Uh, yeah, dared each other to buy those with our student grants, um...

Commit to being a writer.

Harry loved the clatter of the keys, wrote all his novels on it, and mine just sat there glaring at me, telling me not to give up.

(soft music) You were never tempted?

To write detective fiction?

God, no.

(laughs) No, my...my ambitions lay on a higher plane.

Tell me about Lisa Newman.

Lisa, uh, um... what can I say?

Uh, her death shattered Harry, turned him into a recluse, uh, and a writer, al... although it would be another five years before he created Fortnum.

Hmm.

Was this taken at the retreat?

(laughs softly) Yes.

Aldous Tate took it.

The creep.

Why'd you call him that?

Uh, Harry told me that he, uh, Aldous, tried it on with Lisa.

And...she found him a bit scary.

-Hmm.

-Did Lisa have a twin sister?

I believe she did, yes.

Uh, leave that, please.

If...if you must handle my books, here... have one of these.

When did you last visit Harry?

Uh, must have been a while back.

Um...are you treating his death as suspicious?

Did you know he was writing a memoir?

I didn't, no.

Uh, but I'm not surprised.

I mean, every writer cranks one out eventually.

If they live long enough.

Oh, you bought a copy?

A gift.

He insisted on signing it.

Well, we've got a gift for you, too, and I think you're gonna like this one.

But first, the bad news, Will.

There is another entrance to the apartment block, Ma'am, via the car park, but it's not covered by CCTV.

-Right.

-Now, the good.

Facial recognition picked him up.

Convicted of assault, 2015.

Aldous Tate.

-Tate.

Yeah.

He's featured in the news coverage about the fire.

Ran the Sandend writers' retreat, owned the log cabin that burned down, killing Lisa Newman, and scarring Harry Franklin for life.

And the PNC says Tate assaulted the boyfriend of a student that accused him of sexual harassment.

A bunch of other women came forward, and the university had to fire him.

Lennox said Tate made unwanted advances towards Lisa Newman as well.

And Patience dug out the original fire report, it could have been started on purpose.

I checked Harry Franklin's phone records.

He'd called Aldous Tate four times in the past two weeks.

(mysterious music) (car rumbling) (car doors open) Hiya.

We're looking for Aldous Tate.

He's around somewhere.

Are you his daughter?

I'm his wife.

Excuse me.

Sweetie pie.

Are you Aldous Tate?

What do you want?

(birds singing) (door opens) (sighs) This is humiliating.

Yeah, well, we have to test your clothes.

Why did you visit Harry's flat?

He wanted to talk.

About the fire.

(suspenseful music) About Lisa Newman, more specifically?

She was an attractive young woman.

I've said all I'm ever going to about Lisa Newman.

You took that photograph of Edmund Lennox, Lisa, and Harry Franklin.

No comment.

I want my lawyer.

(footsteps approaching) Um, I finished it.

I haven't got past page 20.

Well, I'm a fast reader.

Hyperlexia is the medical term.

-Right.

So, at first, I thought, this is terrible, there's no puzzle.

But then I realized there is one.

Lennox didn't write this.

-What?

It was written by Harry Franklin.

What makes you think that?

Well, it has the same cadences, the same syntactical constructs, the same narrator's voice as all of the Fortnum novels.

I think we need a bit more than similar writing.

Identical writing.

And the Jaccard Index will prove it.

I have no idea what that is.

Uh, it's a similarity coefficient.

Can't believe you didn't know that.

Let's see what Lennox has to say.

Ask now.

Hm, just a sec.

Look, don't you think we should stay focused on Tate?

What did I say about an open mind?

Yeah, I'm trying, believe me.

But it feels like you're just doing this to make Patience feel...useful.

You know the letter in Harry Franklin's typewriter, 'Dear Lottie', have you figured out who Lottie is?

-No.

-Well, Patience has.

Come on, come ride along.

Make yourself feel useful.

Ready?

(suspenseful music) So...how may I help you?

My colleague's read your book.

She's hyperlexic.

Did you enjoy it?

Oh, no, I didn't enjoy it.

Who cares?

You didn't write it.

Oh, I...I was sure I did.

So, let me see.

No, that... that is definitely me.

Hm, Harry Franklin wrote it.

The Jaccard Index will prove it.

Why would he use your name, Mr. Lennox?

Uh, it's...uh... (laughs) it's not a crime.

We'll be the judge of that.

Harry thought the critics didn't take him seriously.

He wanted to write something literary.

Prove them wrong.

Our plan was to reveal all, but only after the reviews were out and it had been judged on its merits, not on his name.

Then Adam's Island was, uh, shortlisted for one of the better literary prizes.

We agreed to hold off the big reveal until we found out if it had won.

Since I heard about his death, I admit I have been wondering whether it might not be a better idea to...just allow our secret to be buried with him.

Metcalf.

Great.

On my way.

Traces of cyanide on Tate's clothing.

We got him.

(birds twittering loudly) (ominous music) (car engine starts) (sighs) What's his motive?

He's afraid of what's in the memoir.

Um, we think Harry Franklin found out that Tate had killed Lisa Newman after sexually assaulting her.

Then he set fire to cabin to cover it up.

Tate was fired for sexual harassment.

Still, it's quite a leap.

What about Lisa Newman's sister?

Can she corroborate any of this?

We've left messages, Sir, she's on a walking holiday in the Cairngorms.

(sighs) Go back to Tate, see what he spills.

And if we still get no comment?

Charge him.

(background chatter) (up tempo music) (door closes) -Mr. Tate... -My client won't be answering any more questions.

Release him or charge him.

Aldous Tate, you are charged with the murder of Harry Franklin.

You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something that you later rely on in court.

Anything you do say may be given in evidence.

(knocking on door) Come in.

(door opens) Here you go.

I'm...

I don't know, I...

I've only looked at this from... one perspective, and I'm...

I'm starting to think the reverse might also be true.

(dramatic music) I don't understand.

Well... why would someone with a badly damaged hand use a manual typewriter?

Are you saying that you don't think Harry Franklin wrote the Fortnum novels?

(office phone rings) (background chatter) Ma'am?

Got a minute?

Yeah.

Uh, Patience thinks she may have made a mistake.

Uh...I...

I...I told you that I thought Harry Franklin wrote Adam's Island and the Fortnum novels, but... the opposite could also be true.

Yeah, the opposite would make more sense.

Edmund Lennox wrote all the books.

The uncertainty is upsetting her.

Does it matter who... who wrote them?

Yeah, it matters to Patience.

We've...we've charged Aldous Tate.

Our priority is to make those charges stick.

Right, boss?

We'll deal with this another time.

Thank you.

Okay, Patience?

Come on.

Thank you.

(dramatic music) -Good morning.

-Good morning.

Uh, DCI Baxter is not receiving anyone at the mo...excuse me.

-Calvin.

-Marissa.

(file slaps on desk) According to this, hydrogen cyanide occurs naturally in certain plants.

Millet, sprouts, cassava roots, lima beans, all grown by Aldous Tate's wife.

DI Metcalf was also in the greenhouse.

She will also have traces of HCN on her clothing.

Are you going to charge her too?

Release my client immediately or I will sue you for wrongful arrest.

(dramatic music) (pen clatters) (heavy sigh) Mr. Tate.

(police radio chatter) We've got a suspect in the room on the day that the guy died.

Traces of cyanide on his clothes.

What more do they want?

Boss...

Puts a different perspective on it.

Patience, it's Detective Bea.

(office phone rings) Here you go.

Harry's first Fortnum manuscript.

-Could I...?

-It's not a holy relic.

So, Harry Franklin didn't write the Fortnum novels.

In his Dear Lottie letter, in his typewriter, which we assume he did write, the indentations on the left-hand keys are much weaker, and... well...on these pages there's no discernible difference between the keys you'd strike with your left hand, and the ones that you'd strike with your right.

I'm sorry, I gave you bad advice.

Why would Lennox lie about it?

I don't...I...

What do you think?

I don't...

I...

I think I'm not cut out to be your investigative assistant.

I'm...I think I'd just like to go home.

Patience?

(soft music) (footsteps receding) Huh.

(birds singing) (motorbike engine starts) Mr. Lennox.

I just have one more question.

But you've arrested Aldous Tate.

-Who told you that?

-The publishing world is one big grapevine of gossip, Detective.

Well, then, your grapevine needs updating.

Mr. Tate was released this morning.

Oh.

So, you're back bothering me?

Right, well, I don't have time for this right now, I'm afraid.

Mr. Lennox.

(motorbike engine starts) Just, I feel like I'm not...

I'm not doing anything right, and I don't know.

MODERATOR: Yeah.

Self-doubt, the way Patience is describing it, is common.

But perhaps for us, due to trauma in the past, it can be extreme.

We can be... drawn to thinking in absolutes.

-Everything is all or nothing.

-Yeah.

Yeah.

Your father was a police officer, Patience, and a decorated one at that.

Yeah.

That's...that's a lot to live up to.

(high tempo music) (birds singing) (police radio chatter) (people chattering) (suspenseful music) -Hiya.

-Hi.

Hiya.

(camera clicking) Almonds?

Cyanide.

Found it in the boot.

Looks like notes.

From Harry Franklin's lost memoirs.

(chuckles) I cannot believe we had Harry Franklin's killer in custody, and we let him go.

Well, the cause of death for Tate, Sir, is exactly the same MO as used to kill Harry Franklin.

Hydrogen cyanide.

-Yeah.

The forensics don't indicate any third-party involvement.

CCTV places Tate at the scene of the murder on the day that Harry died.

We've got to assume that he stole the notes for Harry's memoirs that we found in the car.

'Asked Tate to visit, said I needed help to research what really happened with the fire.

He demanded payment.

£2,000 agreed.

Worth it to see his face when I tell him I know he killed Lisa.'

This sounds like supposition.

I digitized Lisa Newman's post-mortem images.

The same ones Harry Franklin requested as part of his research.

Now, this is not a heat-related lesion.

This is a stab wound.

Look at the clean line.

Well, why wasn't it noticed at the time?

Well, modern topographical techniques can pick it up, but not, uh, not in the 90s.

Alright, so you've given me a possible motive for Tate murdering Harry Franklin, to stop him exposing him for the murder of Lisa Newman 20-plus years ago.

But what was Tate's motive for killing himself?

He had the notes, Harry was dead.

The memoirs aren't going to see the light of day.

Care to honor us with an insight?

Not until I've shown these to our colleague in criminal records, Sir.

(sighs) (mysterious music) Yeah, this was typed by the same person who wrote the Dear Lottie letter.

On the same typewriter, it would appear.

Are you sure?

-Yeah.

-Good.

What you're looking at is the letter Harry sent to Lottie requesting information about her sister Lisa, just before he was killed.

Now, look at this.

Well, this was typed by a... completely different person, on a...different machine.

Well, it's the one that was used to type the Fortnum manuscripts we looked at.

I'm...

I'm certain of it.

(sighs) It's one of the pages of Harry's notes we found in Tate's car.

But Edmund Lennox wrote them.

We've got him, thanks to you.

You wrote the Fortnum novels, Edmund.

Do you have proof of that?

We can prove Harry Franklin didn't.

We had an expert analyze the pages of the first Fortnum manuscript.

It shouldn't be too difficult to match them to the Olivetti typewriter on your client's desk.

I'd call it typing, not writing, but yes, Fortnum was my creation.

(claps) -So what?

-But you despise crime fiction.

Well, as Samuel Johnson almost said, only a fool would write crime fiction for anything other than money.

You certainly made plenty of that.

For the tape, I'm showing a letter from the Tortuga National Bank in the Cayman Islands, dated October 2004.

BEA: An offshore account, opened and closed by you, but in the name of Edmund Lennox and Harry Franklin.

We got a court order, Edmund.

You paid Harry an awful lot of money.

(whispering) For research.

(suspenseful music) For the tape, we are showing three items.

A letter typed by Harry Franklin to Lisa Newman's sister, a page...from the typescript of the first Fortnum novel.

And notes for Harry Franklin's memoir, recovered from Aldous Tate's car.

Because of the burns to his left hand, when Harry typed, the keys on the left side of the typewriter made a weaker indentation than those on the right.

Harry's letter to Lottie is very distinct from... from the notes found in Tate's car.

This was typed by Harry.

These were typed by you.

You didn't pay him for research.

It was blood money paid out of guilt.

Harry was my friend.

He suffered.

(intense violin music) Oh, you have no idea.

The burns, the... loss of the girl he loved.

He...

I did what I could to support him.

I'm sure you tried to convince yourself of that over the years.

But then you discover Harry is writing a memoir.

Oh God, I told you, I had no idea.

You're lying, Edmund.

We spoke again to Kelvin Fitzwater.

He told you over dinner that Pardona had signed Harry about Harry's research and the...explosive reveal.

BEA: You realized he was gonna tell the world that you'd murdered his girlfriend.

(scoffs, laughs) That's utter nonsense.

BEA: We spoke to Lisa's sister.

It wasn't Tate she was scared of, it was you.

JAKE: Lisa Newman died from a knife wound.

You set fire to the cabin to cover your tracks.

BEA: You staged Harry's death to look like a suicide.

When that unraveled, you tried to frame Tate, lured him with the promise of money, poisoned him, left Harry's notes in his car.

Except they weren't Harry's notes, you made them up.

(sighs) The success that I had with Adam's Island, I took to be a sign.

I no longer had to expend my talent on Fortnum.

I'd paid Harry reparations enough.

Then I found out he's not only cashing in on the fame I'd given him, but he's about to expose me.

So, you killed Harry Franklin.

(melancholic music) I had no choice.

And Aldous Tate.

Oh, no...no loss.

And Lisa Newman.

A crime passionnel.

When she told me that she preferred Harry, I had a...moment of, um... blind... black, fathomless rage.

Interview suspended, 17:40.

(recording button clicks) This is a letter from Harry Franklin that Pardona Publishing found in their post room this morning.

The explosive reveal he was planning.

He didn't write the Fortnum novels.

He blamed Aldous Tate for Lisa's death, not you.

(suspenseful music) You had no reason to kill him.

(dramatic music) (footsteps receding) -It's a puzzle box.

-Oh.

Is it...easy to open?

Uh, I don't know, I've never tried.

You left a puzzle unsolved?

(gentle music) Who's Mathilde Hendricks?

(tea pouring) It's my mother.

It's the only thing she didn't take with her before she left.

(clears throat) Have you ever tried to contact her?

Why would I want to do that?

(suspenseful music)